Demons
by catalystic
Summary: It is a fact of life that, as living beings, we sin. We desire what we cannot have. And we all have our demons. But how you deal with those demons is always a choice left up to you and you alone. Maker be damned. If you desire something so strongly, is that not enough to overcome those demons? But perhaps...that isn't always enough...A young elven mage will soon find out.
1. Treasure

**Author's Note: **So I have been toying with this plot idea for a while, always wanting to create and write something that would be long and enjoyable for people, something to give me an urge and need to write frequently, to not let others down. And, with the release date of the newest Dragon Age game coming out, sometime this Fall in 2014, I felt that it was the perfect time to brush up on lore, gameplay, and refresh my mind of the love I have (always had) for Dragon Age: Origins. Especially the characters and lore. _Especially_ the characters and the lore. Please refrain from rude comments, although constructive criticism is welcome. Excuse possible OOC actions of certain characters, especially those with not much dialogue. I will try my damnedest to capture the character personalities since I love them with all of my heart.

Read, review, or just silently observe. All that matters is I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which may sometimes stray from the original.

**One**

_Treasure_

Her hair is the color of copper, like a cascading waterfall of shiny new bits as they tumble into the coin purse of a wealthy nobleman. And while her hair is a glistening hue of orange, her eyes are a magnificent grey, speckled with flecks of the softest blue that he has ever seen. They instantly make him think of diamonds, chiseled and polished to perfection, the envy among the gems. Or perhaps even stars that dot the night's sky. Her flesh, white like the snow, is without a single blemish, freckle, birthmark, or scar, flawless and untouched. So pure and vibrant, without flaw and without defect, something that perhaps even the prophetess Andraste herself would be jealous of.

Poking out from between strands of her beautiful, silky copper hair are a set of pointed ears, each decorated with three silver hoops dangling from the thin cartilage, leading down until they reach her earlobes. Usually hidden behind her curtain of hair, sit a pair of silver earrings, each little tear-shape hanging from a braided chain and embedded with sapphires.

In spite of always seeming to be on the go or having something to do, she always leaves her long, waist-length hair down, allowing the straight locks to tumble down her back, trailing after her like a cape when she walks. Even so, her copper tresses remain bright and untangled, smooth and shiny like the finest silks all of Thedas has to offer. Were he not so blatantly aware of her impressive devotion to her lessons and studying, he would surely assume that the only thing she does all day is run a comb through her hair to keep it so perfect. But it just remains so without her effort. Just like the rest of her, it remains flawless.

Her frame is naturally petite, which is expected of those of the Elven race, but she is perhaps even more lithe than the usual Elf. Aside from the children that run around the tower, he has not yet seen another adult, Elf or Human, smaller than her. Even with such a willowy frame, it has not gone without notice (not just to himself, either) that she possesses a chest size that is not entirely modest. Andraste shame him for his impure thoughts and inability to NOT notice! But either way, her curves are neither drastic nor overwhelming; they are subtle and sweet, much like the girl encased within them.

To him, there is not a single woman in this entire tower, Ferelden, Thedas – or even the whole world – more beautiful than she is. Even while donning her robes, worn and weathered and ratty from time and relentless action, she holds an aura of absolute astonishing magnificence. From her grey eyes, to her softly upturned nose, to her full, pouty lips, she is nothing short of breathtaking. Neither her Elven lineage nor her ability to utilize magic is successful in deterring him from watching, gaping, helplessly wishing to just simply allow a hand to brush against her smooth flesh without the barrier of a steel glove between them. Even deeper down lurks a desire that has been forming for months, perhaps longer, to allow himself closer to her – or to at least try.

His infatuation had developed over many months of just casually interacting with and observing her, but he would be struck down as a liar if he said there was no pivotal point that made him stare so longingly at her as he did now. No, there was most certainly a moment that would be forever engrained into his mind for as long as he lived…a moment that he would keep locked in his mind for all eternity…

_Her loyalty and devotion to both the Circle and her studies always made his head spin with envy and astonishment. So many that came here were spiteful, scared, bitter, heartbroken, devastated, lonely – all with good reason, of course. Magic was dangerous, but he could always understand and relate to the distinct feeling of isolation that came with the means of tempering that danger. Yet while others still wept for their families and homes years after being brought here, she remained silent about her suffering, indulged in her efforts to become a suitable, reliable mage that others would aspire to look up to. There were always brief moments, however, that he could catch glimpses of her sadness and loneliness. It was an expression that lingered in her eyes, an expression that caused her brow to crease, and her face to contort momentarily into something of a look that he could only describe as "beautifully melancholy". _

_But all too soon, it would promptly vanish, and her features would relax and return to normal, not a single soul none the wiser. Except him. _

_Her head tilted back up, tucking her chin restlessly into the palm of her fragile looking hand while her eyes fluttered shut. He could hear an exasperated sigh leave her pink, full lips, breath causing her coppery fringe to shift and settle out of her eyes. For a while, she remained perfectly still like that, head lazily tilted at an angle, supported by a thin arm, while her other hand rested flat across the page of the open book before her._

_It was then that he shifted, clearing his throat lightly to make his presence known to her, quickly averting his hazel eyes in case she caught him staring at her. The sudden rustle of fabric made him aware that she had jumped, eyes snapping open and revealing her grey eyes, the flickering candle's flame making the blue bits sparkle._

_Immediately, her face had lit up with a soft pink flush over her cheeks, sitting up straighter and fumbling with her hands before dropping them into her lap. "A-Ah…C-Cullen," she greeted quietly, keeping her own gaze shifted from his. "I didn't…s-see you or hear you come in…I…my apologies…" _

_So like him._

"_A-Ah…oh…it's okay," he replied back, lifting a gloved hand and rubbing lightly at the back of his neck. "Just…um…it's getting quite late and I know you come here often. O-Or so I've been told." Again, he had allowed his eyes to drift back to her, only to dart away again. _

_A drawn out silence settled between the two of them, until finally came the sound of rustling fabric and wood against cold stone. He peered back to her, fixing his eyes on her while she gingerly closed the book she had been reading at the time, tucking the massive thing back into its place on one of the shelves. _

"_Ah, so it is…it gets difficult to tell without sunlight," she murmured, more to herself than to him. Offering a shy smile, she quickly sent him a look before letting her eyes dance back to the floor. "A-Ah…thank…thank you for telling me. Goodnight, Cullen." And like she had lit a fire under her feet, she quickly shuffled from the room, head bowed down shyly as she briskly passed him and swiftly entered the hallway. _

_He had simply stared after her, intoxicated and completely distracted, stirred only when he recognized the faint aroma of something sweet hanging in the air. It must've been her. Sighing, he had begun to make his way back to his post outside the apprentice mages' quarters, armor softly clanking and rattling as he moved. Yet, he paused as something on the ground caught his eye almost instantly. There, snatching all light around it like some kind of magnet, sat a little tear-shaped earring on the ground, the silver braid slightly curled up like a slumbering snake. _

_With clumsy steps and hands, Cullen had plucked it from the ground, inspecting it before bringing it close to his chest plate. He knew all too well who this belonged to, and he knew that she would miss it were she to know she had lost it. With steps perhaps a bit too eager, he had marched down the stairs and through the halls of the tower, mind clouded with things to say when he delivered it back to her. It was a simple task, but for Cullen it was also another excuse to see the woman that he (what he thought was) secretly yearned for. His infatuation left him stumbling over thoughts in his mind whenever she was around or even crossed his mind. Now was certainly no different._

_Without thinking, he had stepped quietly into the apprentices' quarters, finding not a single candle lit except ones coming from the washing area. He at the time had figured her to be brushing her long hair, tending to it before going to bed. In hindsight, he really should have realized that it would be rude to simply assume such things. But he had, and he moved forward while holding the earring delicately pinched between his forefinger and thumb._

_Before he could open his mouth, his eyes lifted when he stepped to the archway of the washing area, freezing mid-step and moving not a single muscle. From where he stood, he could see her naked back, long hair swept over her shoulders. In that instant, Cullen had become nothing more than a solid statue, mouth lightly hanging open as he helplessly watched. Like earlier, she seemed oblivious to his presence, and this time around, he had not been so eager to get her attention. Instead, he merely stood frozen in place, eyes struggling to look away but unable to snap off of her body. Her smooth skin was spotted with little droplets of water, muscles twitching and moving as she occasionally moved to clean off a part of her body while she sat in the tub. _

_With sheer willpower, he compelled himself to move and respond, hastily placing the earring onto the vanity to the left of the archway before hurriedly rushing out before he was noticed. By the time he had returned to his post, his face was glowing red like a fire, chest heaving in and out while he frantically tried to slow his rapidly beating heart. How could he control himself after seeing such a thing? Such tender curves, ones that were always cloaked beneath thick robes, had been unknowingly exposed to him. _

_Closing his eyes, Cullen took another breath, once more willing himself to calm down, to collect himself. In the months to come, he would find that image being among many things that only made her more desirable…_

"Cullen!" A voice snapped the Templar from his reminiscing, making him stand up straighter and become alert once more to his surroundings.

The shy demeanor seemed to fall away from him as he obediently turned his head towards the Knight-Commander, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "Knight-Commander," he stated sternly, latching his eyes onto the man. "What is it you need of me, ser?"

"I have chosen you to bear perhaps one of the most important duties that the Templars have," Greagoir started, quickly continuing so that he could silence Cullen's words of inquiry. "You are being charged with the task of striking the killing blow on an apprentice should a demon invade their body during their Harrowing."

Cullen nodded firmly. "Yes, ser."

"Very good. Meet myself and the First Enchanter in the Harrowing Chamber immediately. I will have another Templar escort Luneth to the chamber…"

Immediately, Cullen stumbled in his steps, freezing as he stared unflinchingly at the Knight-Commander. He had been decided as the designated slayer for Luneth's Harrowing? Swallowing down words of objection and replacing the horror in his mind with reminders of his obedience to the Chantry, Cullen steadily regained his pace as he followed after Greagoir.

The object of his affections, the woman which he helplessly sought after, was at risk by his own hand now. Swallowing back everything he could, he tried to remain pokerfaced, and tried to ignore that his treasure was now at risk of getting stolen away.


	2. Harrowing

**Author's Note: **Alright, let's see how this next chapter fairs. Enjoy and keep reading. Also, apology for lack of speed in updates. I have work all week and sometimes it just leaves my brain in a bit of a heap of mush. But I'll do my best to keep updating! Also, since I find it INCREDIBLY boring to just basically recite the dialogue word for word back to you, I've taken some liberty on dialogue and such. Where would the originality be if I were to just re-type everything for you all to re-read? Sounds boring to me. So enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which may sometimes stray from the original.

**Two**

_Harrowing_

So many words seemed to have had passed through First-Enchanter Irving's mouth, all words that Luneth hung onto with an eagerness that only she seemed to have. His raspy, age-worn voice had long been her virtual lifeline, the thing that she considered the most steadfast and stable in this entire tower. Sure, the Senior Enchanters had their wisdom and their hindsight, but Irving had seemingly so many more years ahead of them, so much more knowledge to bear and offer to all pupils that stepped foot in this gilded cage.

"You will not fail, child," he assured her, all too aware of the way the Knight-Commander looked ready to leap forward and pry them apart. Still, he spoke with that familiar gentility and kindness that Luneth had grown up to hearing, had grown accustomed to. It was as if they still had all the time in the world for this Harrowing, all the time in the world for his assurances and encouragements. "Remember that the Fade is but a realm of dreams…the spirits that reside within it may rule it, but always remember that your will is always your own…"

"Irving, the apprentice is meant to take this trial on her own," Greagoir chimed in, this time stepping forward with a loud clang of his armor against the stone. Turning sharply, Luneth peered at him, tearing her gaze from Irving and staring at him. "Approach the lyrium, the essence of your power…and enter the Fade. Should you fail, apprentice, we Templars will not hesitate to do what we must…we will cut you down, and any abomination or demon that may come with. You will die."

Inhaling, there was only the sound of breathing coming to Luneth's ears as her eyes latched firmly onto the little metal podium, glowing with a soft blue light. She had spent so much of her life here, almost all of it in fact. That time had been spent rigorously studying, studying in between lessons, studying while she ate dinner in the commons, studying until she fell asleep into the very pages which she so fervently latched herself to. So many grueling nights and days learning and educating herself, strengthening her will, reminding herself that abominations could only penetrate the weakest of minds – and she would not be fooled. Her time spent here had not been of play and leisure, she had dedicated every ounce of herself to learning of the very gift she had been given, which was also a curse that condemned her to this trial in the first place. Preparation, long nights, endless research and studying, it would not all be for naught; she refused it to be so.

With eager steps, Luneth approached the little stand, timid demeanor seeming to crumble and fall apart to make way for a confidence that only the most wise mages held. Today, she would undoubtedly become a mage, a full mage, and realize her efforts and passion all these years was not in utter vain. Her fingers reached out, hand outstretched, and all too suddenly, the room seemed to flood with light, a type of light that she had never witnessed before! Blinking, Luneth felt almost an alarming panic seep into her system, desperately wanting to shake off the freezing sensation that trickled into her very veins from touching the lyrium. But all too quickly, she had been drawn right into this strange place of dreams – greeted with terrifying landscape and twisted, gnarled statues. So it begins…

_The Four Schools of Magic. Creation, Entropy, Primal, and Spirit. Each one was counterbalanced by another, forming a scale that made everything seemingly even out. Creation's balancing force and complement is Entropy, while Primal's is Spirit. Yet while they all had their pros and their cons, Luneth had always found herself captivated by Creation. The School of Nature, second in the Schools of Matter. It is a magic that is rarely mastered, so many of those that indulge all of their time and effort in high demand._

_They make healers, useful as much in times of peace as they are in times of raging war. But being brought from the tower to aid the wounded and have some kind of freedom was not what attracted Luneth. No, no._

_It had merely been the discipline that it required – it was far more demanding to study than any other school. Finesse and grace and focus and skill beyond all measure was expected when using this magic. Manipulating natural forces, fabricating something new into being – it was something that Luneth found beyond fascinating. And helpful. _

"_I…want to…help people," she had once confided to Cullen. "Mages…always, well almost always, associate power with their…gift. But that…will only cause more justification for fear of us. Wh-Why not…help them? Heal their wounds…m-maybe when I become a mage, I can…become a mentor that can teach these younger apprentices that…m-magic is not just all fire and ice and demons…"_

_Luneth was utterly selfless. Her dream had always been to educate the apprentices on their gifts, to encourage calmness in the mind and dedicate her training to the School of Creation._

"_Sp-Spirit…healer," she had continued. "I want to be a Spirit Healer…th-their skill is far beyond any…r-regular mage's knowledge. B-But that may make me…a target for demons, since…I-It requires so much beyond the Veil. B-because of this, I will make sure my will is impenetrable. I-I will be vigilant and…help!" Such fire in her grey eyes, her voice quiet but excited, determination flashing over her beautiful features. _

Luneth sighed, rubbing her head softly as she looked around herself. So many times she had set foot into the Fade while she slept, but never had she consciously come. In this oddly hazy place, she could make out the strangest, most peculiar things, things fabricated in the image of what dreamers' had in their minds. Cautiously, she took a few steps, ever alert as she patiently awaited for herself to retain her bearings.

In the distance, always the same distance from anywhere in the Fade, sat the Black City, looming forebodingly with its peculiar architecture and disturbingly dark towers. It was hard to imagine that that place, so evidently consumed by darkness now, was believed to once have been the seat of the Maker. The hubris of men, as the Chantry said, had been what tainted the entire place, allowing their selfish intentions to seep deep into the roots and devastate the place as a whole. Peeling her gaze away, Luneth lifted her head high, eyes watchful as she moved through the Fade…

She would not fail and she would not be tricked.


	3. Daylight

**Author's Note: **Nothing really to add. Just enjoy, everyone! I guess this is where it kind of begins to split off from the original plotline? Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for being patient with postings. Work is definitely a killer. Haha.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which may sometimes stray from the original. (Boy am I getting good at copy-pasting these disclaimers! Haha.)

**Three**

_Daylight_

From the instant that she had crumpled to the ground after touching the lyrium, Cullen tensed. It was as if he was hardly breathing anymore, gauntlet covered palms sweating and feeling sticky. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, fingers flexing as he stared intently at her motionless body. Through the thick quilted fabric of her robes, he could see her chest rising and falling steadily, showing that she was indeed still alive. Her thin frame lay sprawled across the cold, stone floor, basked in the glowing blue hue of the lyrium that seeming pulsed in the little podium in the center of the chamber.

He wondered what sort of horrors Luneth was facing right now; he wondered if she was scared or terrified or unable to go on. Every once in a while, his eyes would close for a bit longer than a standard blink, and he would draw in a breath through his nose before allowing his hazel eyes to unveil themselves from behind his lids. Eventually, his breath would tumble back out from his nostrils with nothing more than a soft wooshing sound. The process would soon repeat itself again and again for Maker knows how long.

"…_a mentor that can teach these younger apprentices that magic is not just all fire and ice and demons…" _

Cullen took another breath, sharper, deeper. Held it.

"_I will make sure my will is impenetrable. I will be vigilant and help!"_

His breath caught in his lungs for a moment, unable to escape, unable to let anything further flow in. His eyes opened, and for a moment he had to remind himself to stay composed, to stay calm. He was, first and foremost, a Templar in this Tower. If this meant casting away all human emotion when it came to his duties, then so be it. Yet the concept of this task was far easier to think about than it was to go about doing it.

His lungs deflated as he let out the breath that he had unknowingly been holding for some time now, eyes drifting from the First Enchanter to the Knight-Commander. Both were so stoic and unfazed, seemingly untouched by the way that Luneth continued to lay motionless on the cold, hard ground. Finally, his eyes followed theirs, resting on the lithe elven woman that had not moved for quite some time now. The only sign of her being alive was the delicate rise and fall of her chest beneath her thick robes. How much longer would her body continue to remain on the cold floor of this chamber?

Harrowings seemed to always last forever. He pondered, briefly, if that's what it felt like to the apprentices within the Fade. Did it feel like time passed by slowly for them, too? Were they even aware of time passing at all? Did they know how long they slumbered, how many hours had passed in reality while they went about their business in the Fade?

Cullen dragged in another breath, this one requiring effort as he continued to remind himself that she would endure and prevail. Yet, at the same time, there was that lingering doubt and terror in his mind that made him all too aware of what needed to be done should she simply…not prevail. The unpleasant thought made his lungs tighten, his chest suddenly feeling hollow with his heart slowing down. Would there be a fate more cruel than such? To simply cut down a demon that dared take the face and body and voice of the object of his affections? To take something so…pure and genuine. He grimaced at the thought, but hid it by rubbing a gloved hand over his wary visage, hiding behind it for a couple moments before dragging his digits down.

Before he could drop his hand to his side, a larger one clapped down onto his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts and making him turn his head sharply. His hazel eyes met Greagoir's, which he hastily turned his face away from while his expression maintained complete neutrality again.

"Keep your wits about you, son," the Knight-Commander stated, his hand dropping off of Cullen's shoulder while his eyes shifted towards Luneth. "Your hand must always be ready to make use of your blade before the demon makes use of his…" A simple gesture of his head towards Luneth made it clear that the blade, in that case, would be her. Cullen nodded stiffly, saying nothing in reply while his eyes remained firmly latched onto her. Would he not be able to do it, to strike her down if need be, he would be abandoning his duty and endangering everyone else in this Tower. He was fully aware that being a Templar was a not a path for the faint of heart. He needed to continue to be devoted to his duties and do so for the safety of everyone…even if that meant leaving his desires behind. His life was no longer about himself, that much he knew.

His eyes didn't close, his breathing didn't halt, his heartbeat did not cease. Yet still, he recalled the sound of her voice again, ringing in his mind like soft jingling from a wind chime, distant but prominent…and beautiful.

"_We…all have a duty…d-don't we, C-Cullen?" She asked him. At the time, she was precariously balancing a stack of thick books in her slender, willowy arms, peeking out around them to send him a shy, timid smile._

"_I…yes. Yes, we do." He watched her like a complete dolt as she strained to balance the comically wobbly stack._

"_I…don't see why…Templars are hated so," she had murmured, pausing in her movements to furrow her brow, looking as if she were intently mulling over her words. "People fear mages…f-fear magic, but a-a lot…d-don't look kindly on the Templars, either…" One of her feet lifted, taking a step forward, which caught on the hem of the thick rug beneath her feet. With a shrill cry of surprise, she stumbled forward. Yet she did not hit the ground._

_Cullen had stopped her in a moment of impulse, one hand steadying the wobbling pile of books while the other settled briefly on her hip. Blinking, Cullen had ensured she was steady on her feet before stepping back, one hand quickly latching to the back of his neck as he awkwardly cleared his throat. _

_Finally, while still keeping his gaze averted, he took the entire stack of books from her hands, exposing her red face._

"_I…ah…think people don't realize how important some duties are…t-to keep them safe." Cullen sighed and placed the books easily onto one of the massive tables, casting her a brief glance before looking away again._

"_I…I-I guess…a lot of people think carrying out certain duties should be easy…"_

"_R-Right…Templars…my…our duty is a heavy one. To protect the mages from themselves, to eliminate those that were…u-unable to…ah…it's…definitely not an easy one," he paused, looking at her. "What…would you say a mage's duty is? W-Well…your duty?"_

_Luneth had paused, cocking her head to one side before letting a genuine, sincere smile slide over her pale face. Her silvery-grey eyes settled onto Cullen._

"_To live."_

At the time, Cullen didn't really understand her answer, but suddenly, staring at her serene face, he understood. To live, she had said. To make it through the Harrowing. His features momentarily contort into something tense and apprehensive, but quickly it ebbed away back into a passive state. Furthermore, it seemed as though she would hold no grudge against him. They had their duties.

She knew what his was.

Unlike many mages, she seemed to respect that duty. She truly was one a kind, wasn't she?

Inhale. There was movement. Cullen's hand immediately lifted to settle on the hilt of his blade, still sheathed upon his back. He barely registered anything. The rustling of robes, the familiar clanking of steel armor.

Then Irving's voice. "So it is done…she has passed the Harrowing."

Cullen's eyes bolt to him, hand immediately abandoning the blade and dropping to his side as he ignored all common sense and moved forward, lingering over Luneth with Greagoir and Irving. Hours and literally passed? He fought the smile that desperately sought place on his face, ignoring it with all of his might.

"Good. Means one less rambunctious apprentice we have to worry about," Greagoir muttered, standing up straight and looking to Irving, who nodded curtly. "Take her back to the apprentice's dormitory and set her in her bed. Come the time when she fully wakes up, Irving can deal with the nonsense that follows a successful Harrowing." Irving let out a grunt at that, but stood upright and shook his head, heading towards the stairs that lead downwards out of the chamber. Already, Cullen could hear the pair bickering back and forth, voices fading from earshot before disappearing altogether.

Glancing downwards, he finally knelt down at Luneth's side, taking a brief glimpse around before daring to tuck a piece of her coppery hair behind one of her long, pointed ears. The smile that had wanted to spread over his face before finally did, the corners of his eyes wrinkling a bit in pure joy and bliss. After selfishly enjoying the rare moment of private peace, he retracted his hand from her face before scooping her up. It was a bit clumsy, but after adjusting her carefully in his arms, he found that she was quite light. No surprise there, honestly.

His steps were delicate and careful, his eyes darting his way and that to make sure that he didn't end up hitting her head against anything as he moved. Through the windows that sat near the top of these high, vaulted ceilings, he could see the precursor of daylight sneaking through. Night had come and gone, and in those few hours where darkness reigned, Luneth had passed her Harrowing. As the sun rose, she had succeeded. She was not lost to him.

Quickly, before any apprentices or mages stirred from their slumbers, Cullen slipped into their quarters, inching towards her bed. Delicately, he shifted her body once more, placing her peaceful body on the raggedy mattress. Casting one final look around him, he sent her a fond smile and moved her hair again.

At the slightest noise, though, his hand slipped away and he back off, all but panicking and vanishing from the room. His heart raced, and the blood pumping through his veins felt hot, so very hot…but Luneth was okay. Luneth was a mage. She would not die at his hand. She would live.

And so would he.


	4. Murmurs

**Author's Note: **PHEW. So much has been happening that is FINALLY settling down. Medical issues, hospital visits, leaving my last job due to a hostile work environment situation, finding another job – it's been insanely active, believe it or not. But, at long last, things have settled, and I am REALLY sorry to you all for making you wait like this. Jeez, horrible author I am, right? Haha. But either way, going to give this a go at regular updating. I got a bunch of ideas and I'm ready to go. Please note that it will indeed begin to deviate from the original plot line now, and as an original work begin to take its own shape. And it will very much likely begin to focus more solely on Luneth's side rather than Cullen's now.

Thank you to those of you that have been enjoying it so far and continuing to stick with me. And learn how to exercise your patience, too! Haha! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which will stray from the original quite often. (Boy I am getting REALLY good at copy-pasting these disclaimers! Haha.)

**Four**

_Murmurs_

There was a sense of serenity that had washed over her what felt like an eternity ago, and she had done nothing but soak in that feeling for Maker only knows how long. It came with the undeniable, confident knowledge that she had successfully passed her Harrowing (lest this be some horrible, cruel nightmare that she was trapped in, but it certainly didn't _feel_ that way). For a test that was the least physical in perhaps the entire world and beyond, she still felt as if she had been on the receiving end of an angry stampede of Halla. It hurt to even lay still.

"…eth! Luneth!" A voice pierced through the near silence that was her peaceful mind. Through the mental chatter of her own thoughts, a male called her name, almost desperate to jar her from her unresponsive state and gather her fullest attention. When silver eyes were unveiled from behind closed lids, the relief in his sigh was palpable, matched only with the worry that was etched into his exhaustion-riddled visage.

"Jowan…" Luneth's voice was but a breath that passed by her full lips, scarcely audible to even herself. Though the expression on Jowan's face softened, it was more than evident that his concern still lingered as he hovered over her to delicately place a hand on the small of her back to help her sit up. An appreciative, tiny smile pulled her lips up at the corners, reaching her eyes as they settled onto her friend.

"I don't even think the children in the Tower have slept as late as you did," he joked, sending a lopsided smile at her before inching back and plopping on her bed near her feet. "You look like you could've slept a hundred more years if I hadn't awoken you."

Once more, a smile decorated her face, though this time her grey eyes closed while thin, willowy limbs stretched out in front of her, only to fall into her lap moments later. "I…very likely could have," she admit sheepishly, lifting her hands to toy with a stray piece of thread on her sleeve. "I-I'm…s-sorry if I…worried you."

"Worried me," Jowan repeated, an air of incredulous amusement pouring off of him. He just shook his head and sent her another look, this time a bit more like his usual – gloomy, dismal, and downcast. "You know…I came to the Tower before you did, and a lot of other Apprentices, too…and almost everyone has gone through their Harrowing except me." Luneth watched as his head hung down a bit, hiding majority of his expression behind locks of black hair. His expression contorted into something almost like terrorized agony, before vanishing as he swept a large hand through his hair.

Luneth merely said nothing, though watched him with an attentive gaze, truly worried for her dear friend and what could possibly be running through his mind at the moment. With no other intention than to comfort him, she smiled tenderly and gingerly placed a tiny, delicate hand on his shoulder. Had Jowan not glanced over to look at her, it surely would've gone unnoticed because of how lightly it weighed.

"I-I'm sure that it'll happen soon, Jowan," she assured him tenderly, almost like an older sibling consoling a younger one. Every word was sincere and heartfelt, carefully chosen as not to upset him, and to show that she truly cared and believed that he would succeed. Just as she had. "You can't continue to fester upon it, though…I'm sure they have very good reasons for withholding you from your Harrowing…they…always have good intentioned reasons…"

This time, a skeptical look pierced straight into Luneth's eyes from Jowan's, making her flinch the slightest bit. Such a sharp look, cutting directly into her and burning her up from the inside out. How could such a sad looking man, such a dear friend, be capable of sending such a painful, spiteful look? It made her retract her tiny hand almost instantaneously, holding it against her chest with the other while her silvery eyes skittered away. She knew that Jowan had always been skeptical (and that's putting it lightly) of the Circle, the Templars, and the Chantry.

"Your devotion is blind sometimes," he muttered, looking quite clearly exasperated by being around her and listening to her talk. The elven woman just looked down, trying desperately to hide her hurt, to remind herself that Jowan was just upset about his Harrowing, and didn't really mean it. "I wonder how you can call yourself my friend when you obviously decide to take _their _side over believing me when I say they're planning something for me!"

"I-I didn't…" She trailed off, wincing when Jowan sat up and waved a hand dismissively at her.

"I don't want to hear it, Luneth," he grumbled, taking a couple steps away. When he paused, she didn't even bother to look over, keeping her head down like she had been scolded by a mentor. "And oh, I came to tell you that Irving wanted to see you as soon as you woke up. So run along to your master." He waved his hand mockingly at her, Luneth catching but a quick glimpse of it before her angered, ornery friend practically stomped out of the dorms and into the hall.

A burning, searing pain surged through her entire chest, and it took everything she had in her to not cry. How pitiful could she be, to be able to face a demon without fear or hesitation, but crumble when perhaps her only friend refused to acknowledge her as such because she placed faith in those that he didn't? Did that truly make her a mindless fool? Misguided? Confused? Her brow furrowed softly, lips pulling back into a tight line while her fingers crumpled into tiny fists in her lap. Determination painted itself onto her skin, injected itself within her gaze that shot straight ahead.

No. She had faith in the Circle, in their rules, their guidelines, their teachings. She had faith in the Templars, and faith in the Chantry. She saw everything from as many sides as she could, and when she did not understand, she would ask and enlighten herself. She was not blindly devoted – she was educated and aware. _Jowan_ was the blind one. Blinded with fear because he did not have control that he desperately sought, that he felt he lacked and deserved.

A sigh forced itself from her lungs, expelled from her body as she turned to kick her feet over the side of her bed. Copper locks tumbled over her shoulders and across her chest, pouring into her vision before she swept them back and away. In spite of not having bathed since the night prior, they remained silken and smooth, cleaned and glistening in the low light of candles and sun that slipped in through the high-set windows.

Before she could recognize her own movements, she was walking towards the door, exiting and slipping into the hallway. Her steps were shaking, trembling from effort that she felt she hadn't exerted in weeks. A hand ran against the wall to support herself, eyes falling to the ground instead of looking where she was going. In all of her years of practicing magic, sometimes almost to the point where she was physically drained, it had never been this prominent. She had never struggled to lift her legs, which now felt as if they carried heavy weights. Everything was heavy, tired, exhausted, straining and fighting against her efforts to work normally. Is this what happened when one went beyond their usual limits?

Even with the aid of the lyrium, she must've drained quite a lot of her mana…and perhaps it was just due to a tired mind? So many thoughts swam around her head, like a raging, violent whirlpool. Never stopping, never slowing, they continued, distracting her almost entirely from everything going on around her. It was as if her mind beckoned her inward, into herself, and when she tried to ignore it, to move on, it dragged her forcefully inside to pay attention.

So when she stumbled over her feet and to the ground with a light thud and the rustling of robes, it came as quite the shock to her. Confused, dazed, almost like she had been formerly intoxicated, she didn't quite understand what was going on. All at once, she felt lethargic and weathered down, but suddenly free from the burden of her swirling, overactive, demanding mind.

A gauntlet covered hand settled on the small of her back, while another rested on one of her forearms, and without looking, she already knew who it was. Had she truly fallen in front of Cullen? When her eyes opened, she finally registered that she had fallen onto her hands and knees, and had been pitifully trying to claw against the stone wall to help herself up. Had she been that indulged in her own thoughts she didn't realize this?

"S-Sorry," Luneth managed, turning her head and peering at him through her curtain of copper hair. "I…um…I-I…d-didn't realize…um…I-I suppose I still…f-feel a bit weak." An attempt at a calm smile settled on her lips, and to her pleasure Cullen seemed satisfied by it, as he promptly looked away and helped her back to her feet.

Continuing to avoid eye contact, the Templar rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, hastily shifting his hand from her back to her shoulder. "You…were, ah…heading upstairs to speak with the First Enchanter, yes? If you would like…I could…ah, help you since you're…a bit tired it would seem…"

Luneth hesitated, this time shifting her own gaze from Cullen. "I…w-would appreciate that…C-Cullen…th-thank you."

The pair's encounter had not gone unnoticed, as quite a few apprentices had poked their heads out into the hallway to witness what all the commotion was about. While most were dismissive about it, a few of the more verbose apprentices caught a particular interest in the encounter.

"Oh my, do you think she'll be alright?"

"She'll be fine, I imagine. I overheard Cullen speaking to another apprentice about it that asked earlier," one apprentice replied casually. "Jowan, I believe it was. Told him she's quite impressive and accomplished a successful Harrowing in record time, I heard! It's only natural that the poor thing must be so tired, though!"

The first apprentice donned an impish smirk on their face. "He _would_ tell Jowan that, wouldn't he?" The second stared at the first, a baffled sparkle in their eyes as they tried to decipher what the first apprentice was trying to imply. Suddenly, a bewildered expression lit up the second's face.

"You don't think…"

"That Cullen is in love with her? Now why oh why would you ever infer such a thing?"

The second just stared, realization donning their features before they just shook their head, murmuring under their breath. The pair parted and both disappeared to go about their daily routines, while soft murmurs escaped the Templars' notice and word continued to spread amongst the chatty mages and apprentices.


	5. Official Mage

**Author's Note: **Hoping this inspiration lasts! Here's to another chapter, and to hoping that everyone is enjoying it so far! Thank goodness for being on second shift at work, because I can stay up a bit later at night, which means prime writing time for me! So enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which will stray from the original.

**Five**

_Official Mage_

"And just how many more do you plan on sending, Irving?" Greagoir's brow furrowed deeply, a less than subtle agitation etched firmly into his aged features. The First Enchanter merely returned the Knight-Commander's stare, robe clad arms lacing slowly over his chest. "I do not like this business of handing over _our_ mages simply because His Majesty wills it!"

This time, Irving's eyes went wide in mock surprise. "Now, pray tell, Greagoir…when have you ever considered the mages of this tower to belong to you, in comradery or friendship?" There was a static that leapt from one set of eyes to the other, tension rising before heavily weighing down the air in the grand First Enchanter's study. Silence invaded the space, but it was uneasy and unnerved, strain placed upon the shoulders of the two men at odds, yet forced to comply and work with one another.

Finally, Greagoir threw his hands up. "I cannot believe that you are willing to listen to this! You cannot be completely serious in releasing that many from the tower! We've already sent Wynne and Uldred, and yet they demand _more?_"

"These are desperate times, Greagoir," Irving replied resolutely, his expression blazing with determination and a steadfastness that made it obvious he was unwilling to waver on his decision. "Desperate times indeed call for desperate measures…and I'm sure even the Chantry can attest to that…or would you rather we barricade ourselves in this tower for eternity while a war brews to the south? What good will your Chantry and Order be then, when there is no tower or mages to monitor at all times?"

"So you would just willingly hand over our finest mages _blindly?_ I absolutely do not agree to this!" Greagoir and Irving stared at one another again, their eyes narrowing at one another.

"Gentlemen," a third voice finally broke in, drawing their attention, demanding it. "I did not come here to listen to you debate the politics of the Chantry and the Circle. I'm afraid things are much more dire than just a simple war, Greagoir. We believe that a Blight is brewing, and every mage is a valued and absolute necessity, both offensively and defensively." His deep, hoarse voice rumbled through the room, echoing until it died out against the stone, silence once more encroaching in on the three men.

But this time, the unrest was not caused by one another, but rather by the news spoken from the third man's mouth.

Greagoir turned sharply, lifting a hand and rubbing at his forehead before heaving out a sigh. "A Blight…Andraste's flame, of all the…"

"It is much more desperate than we anticipated," the third continued, seeing that he now had a foothold in the conversation. "You can spend your time debating these senseless politics right until the Darkspawn are breaking down your Tower's door, or you can set aside those differences so we can even begin to _hope_ to stand a chance against them…"

"Maker help us…"

"Now what was it about absolutely refusing to agree to send more of our mages to Ostagar, Greagoir?" Irving's gaze returned to the Knight-Commander, who was now massaging the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers. The pause in his ministrations indicated that he was not enjoying the faint tone of amusement in Irving's voice, nor was he enjoying the painful jab that he was taking to both his ego and pride right now. Before he could begin to even conceive any kind of retort, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. Turning, they were greeted with the little apprentice – newly Harrowed mage – and Cullen at the door.

"Ah…s-sorry to interrupt, ser, but I brought Luneth as requested…" Cullen stood up a bit more straight, trying to keep his chin tilted up and keep a confident look about him…in spite of the timid stutter and tremble in his voice.

Greagoir relaxed, but still looked rather exasperated by the whole course of events. "Yes, yes, very good. We will continue this discussion later, Irving."

"I do believe that it was already finished before it began. Good evening, Greagoir," Irving sent him a look, and Greagoir decided it best to keep his mouth shut before heading towards the door. Irving had to keep his amused ghost of a smirk to himself, idly thinking that Greagoir best go and act as a dog that fled to lick its wounds. Brushing the thought aside, he turned to Luneth, who smiled meekly at the First Enchanter. "Ah, child, I thought you would surely have slept the entire night away had I not sent Jowan to speed up your waking up…"

At the mention of Jowan, Luneth's entire being tensed, and she cast her gaze off to the side somewhere, lips pursing tightly. She rubbed at her bicep with delicate, snowy-white fingers, majority of her hand consumed by the length of her robes. The reaction did not go unnoticed by the man that was the closest she had to a father, but he maintained a calm air about him as not to alert her to his observation.

"Ah…I-I'm sorry, First Enchanter," she managed, lifting her head to send a timid smile in his direction. Her eyes never made contact with his, looking past him or around his head, but never directly into his eyes. "To be honest, I still felt…a-a bit weak. Th-Thankfully, Cullen helped me here, or I would've slept some more i-in the hallway…"

"Is the Harrowing truly that draining on a mage?" The new voice startled the elf, making her twist her head and stare almost in complete surprise at the newcomer. Noticing her response, the man chuckled, and delivered a kind smile. "My apologies, I often forget that you are likely not used to new faces unless they belong to that of children apprentices."

"Mages exert quite a bit of mana when it comes to entering the realm of the Fade consciously, my old friend," Irving clarified, giving a brief nod of his head. "And most generally complete it well into the morning after the sun has risen, but Luneth here completed it remarkably quick for an apprentice…she's quite determined and talented."

Luneth ducked her head down lower, the praise causing an awkward sensation to ensue through her whole body. Tiny hands dropped and rested at her front, fingers coiling and uncoiling around one another while she stood stiff as a board in front of them. All the while, a glowing flush worked into her pale skin, lighting up her ashen cheeks.

"It's…r-really not that remarkable, First Enchanter," she murmured quietly, timidly.

"Talented and modest," the unknown male chuckled. "Quite a rare find in these times."

"Yes, yes, she is something else," Irving chuckled. "Ah, but where are our manners? Luneth, this is a friend of mine, Duncan."

"Well met." Duncan chimed in, giving a rather proper bow and greeting to the woman, one that almost confused her. She just stared at him cluelessly before finally steeling her nerves enough to finally return the gesture to him. His kindness was far more than she was used to, as most outsiders typically would've been afraid or stared in bewildered awe at her like she were some kind of caged animal. At least…that's what she recalled from when she was a child, anyways.

"A-Ah…well met, Duncan," Luneth mumbled, compelling herself to stare him directly in the eye. "What…brings you to the Tower…i-if I may ask…of course…"

Duncan smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling fondly, a soft chuckle shaking through him. "I am a Grey Warden, and I've come seeking recruits both for the King's army and our own order."

This seemed to peak Luneth's interest, and her head tilted to one side curiously. "G-Grey Warden? A-As in the order of heroes from long ago that…ex-expelled the Darkspawn from the land and cast them back into the Deep Roads?"

"Yes, child, the very same," Irving confirmed, looking rather proud that Luneth had suddenly become involved and interested, less shy around his old friend. "In fact, we were just discussing it…in a manner."

"B-But…I-I thought they only came forth when a Blight was happening," she stated, glancing down at the floor and boring her silvery eyes into it. "I-If you're…seeking recruit for the Grey Wardens…d-does that mean…" Timid voice trailing off, it became evident that she was unable to finish, the very thought racking her mind with a sadistic mix of terror and intrigue and amazement.

"We do believe so, yes." It was all Duncan said, leaving the conversation about the Blight and Darkspawn and Grey Wardens to end there.

"Ah, but yes, I did call you here for a reason, now didn't I?" Irving chuckled, stepping back from Duncan and Luneth to stride towards his desk. He fumbled with something, before finally approaching Luneth and setting a robe into her hands, which firmly clasped the object to her chest. Childlike astonishment and awe lit up her expression, silver eyes glowing like brand new coins in a noble's treasury. "I present to you your new robes and staff. You are finally no longer an apprentice, child. You are at last a mage of the Circle…you are free to enjoy the remainder of your evening at your leisure. Your belongings will be moved to your new quarters swiftly, child. Congratulations."

Luneth felt her eyes grow wide, wider than they had ever been, her grip only increasing upon the staff set into her palm and around the new set of robes. The intricate golden yellow embroidery and fine blue quilted material made her current robes look ratty and shameful. The hues of blue and purple and gold caused another smile to bloom on her face as she hugged them tightly to her chest.

"Th-Thank you, First Enchanter! I-I will!" Turning, she moved towards the door, pausing in her strides when Irving called after her.

"And, Luneth? Do remember that even the mages must adhere to curfew, hm? Though you're free to bring books from the library to your private quarters now…no more bunks to wake up fellow apprentices with your candlelight now, yes?" A deep chuckle rumbled through his body when she murmured an apology and shyly agreed before vanishing from the room.

When they were both certain that she was completely out of earshot, Duncan and Irving glanced at one another, silently holding each other's gaze for some time.

"I take it you believe you've found your recruit?" Irving's voice pierced Duncan's thoughts, and he shifted his eyes back towards the door where Luneth had exit from. Duncan merely let out a deep hum and a sigh through his nose, not uttering a single word of confirmation or rejection of the idea. "However, I do request that you postpone your recruiting for but a night or so…it would seem that I need to exercise and make use of Luneth's loyalty to the Circle."

Duncan cast Irving a curious glance, his expression intrigued by his old friend's choice of words. Simply observing Irving's face gave him no further hint as to what he meant or why. The Grey Warden just let out a deep chuckle and nodded his head without any intention of question or inquiry. "Hm, very well," he conceded, turning his body towards the door. "Do as you will, friend. I will likely end up having a conversation with her at some point before you reach her."

Irving nodded, already moving towards his desk to sift through a few document, not nearly as distracted as he appeared to be. So, it would seem that something had occurred between her and Jowan. Things were slowly starting to fall into place and make sense. After all, he didn't just become First Enchanter because of his experience with magic. An intelligent man or good mentor is not one that remains blind or deaf to his surroundings. When the door finally closed behind Duncan, indicating that he had left, Irving leaned against his desk, peering idly over the papers that decorated the top like word-covered confetti.


	6. The Templar Confidant

**Author's Note: **So far, so good. I'm hoping to actually get a lot more done this week. Sorry that it's kind of dragging thus far. I really want to set everything up before truly just delving right in. Things are going to get a bit more interesting now, hopefully. Read, review, enjoy in silence – just stick with me here!

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I do not own any lore, characters, or anything from the brilliant minds that developed Dragon Age. I only own my character and the plot which will stray from the original.

**Six**

_The Templar Confidant_

The remainder of the evening would belong to her. To do as she wished, as she wanted, it was almost surreal. While not precisely the definition of complete freedom – not that she harbored much desire for it in the first place – it was still more than enough for her. In the 15 or so years she had lived in the Tower, she had come so far, made so much progress, triumphed against so many odds, accomplished so much. Finally, after all this time, she would be just a few steps away from achieving her dream.

And yet…it left almost a bittersweet taste in her mouth. It didn't feel all that glorious in this moment, with her sitting in the library, alone at a large table with a book spread out before her previously eager eyes. Instead, it felt almost hollow, as if there were nothing to this milestone that she had come to surmount in her life. Congratulations came and went as a small handful of people came in and out of the library, and while she appreciated it, she still didn't entirely feel that sense of pride and bliss.

Luneth let out a breath, silver eyes catching how it made her candle's flame dance a moment, only to settle afterwards. A short-lived whirlwind of celebration, extinguished almost completely when everything settled. Her eyes now fixated on the candle, she remained almost entirely oblivious to everything going on around her. She leaned forward, letting her head cock to one side while she tucked her round chin into a delicate palm, slim fingers curling loosely underneath her lips. Absentmindedly, the elf's free hand ran along the open book's pages, just allowing herself to absorb the feel of the texture on her flesh, vaguely aware of the way the words created soft ridges in the paper.

Was it because of the things that Jowan had said to her? It had to be. Since the day that she had come here, she and Jowan had nearly been inseparable. He had been among the first to approach her and become her friend, most of the others still skeptical due to her racial heritage. Odd how even in a place where everyone was considered an outcast to the outside world and should become united, there were still those considered exiles among them. Luneth had been one of them. Until Jowan. But his hostility could not go unnoticed, nor could the near crippling pain in her heart go ignored. The things that he had said hurt.

Her mind threatened to delve deeper into her own confusion from the situation, deeper into the worry and anxiety that he would no longer be her closest companion. So she would be lying if she said she wasn't grateful for the sound of books tumbling to the floor and armor clanking in hasty, clumsy response.

Eyes flicking upwards and attention now set back into reality, Luneth practically leapt out of her seat. Sure enough, sending her a bashful, flustered smile from across the library was Cullen. In the low candlelight, his hazel eyes practically glowed. All words fled from the timid elf's mouth, the best response she could manage being dropping her head and sending a tiny little wave of her fragile hand.

"Ah…s-sorry about that," he murmured, slowly sliding the books back into their place onto one of the abundantly stocked shelves. "This armor is, ah…rather…clumsy sometimes." He smiled sheepishly, the nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck taking place while his eyes refused to stay in one place longer than ten seconds at a time. Luneth mimicked this, unable to look in his direction for a single moment.

"It's…o-okay," she finally managed to pinch out, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her new robes. "It…just startled me a bit was all…I-I wasn't really p-paying attention." By now, she would've at least attempted to stare at him, to make eye contact and just cherish the way that he would get flustered and immediately look away – not that she really had much space for making comments on such an action.

"Right, well, ah…I just wanted to…take a moment while I could to congratulate you. You were wonderful…I-I mean, you did wonderful…on your Harrowing. Of course. Um…" Once more, the awkward, squeamish templar cleared his throat, raising a gloved fist and poising it before his mouth, hiding half of his face. And effectively concealing a great deal of his flushing cheeks as well. Luneth said nothing, just absentmindedly running her hands across the fabric of her robes, uttering not a single sound of thanks to him. To Cullen, it looked almost as if she were mulling something over, but he wasn't one to press and pry, especially not to her…especially because he just couldn't find the words.

Hoping to spare himself any further embarrassment, he turned around on his heel, muttering a goodbye that failed to reach the tiny woman's ears.

"C-Cullen!" She stood up, her eyes plastered firmly onto the templar, hands curled up into tight fists atop the large table. Freezing mid-step, she noticed as he seemed to hesitate before finally peering cautiously over his shoulder, a look of what she assumed to be terror on his face. Or horror? She couldn't discern it, partially because she looked away so quickly.

"Y-Yes?"

Luneth swallowed, and every fiber of her body seemed to tense up in that moment, unable to relax or proceed with what she wanted to ask. Managing to swallow the lump in her throat was perhaps a task harder than achieving success in the Harrowing itself, but she finally forced it down of her own determined volition.

Tiny words left her lips, so quiet she hardly heard them herself. "W-Would…you…like to…d-do you have a minute…to talk? T-To me?"

The answer left his lips a little too quick, a little too impulsively. Almost naturally. "I always do." When her eyes bore into his, widened with surprise, he quickly scrambled for a recovery, rubbing furiously at his neck while his free hand held itself up in defense, palm facing her and trembling lightly. "I-I mean…w-we templars always make time for…things that…important in the Circle. To listen. Issues…um…yes."

Silence fell between them, and neither one could utter a single word after that for what felt like eternity and beyond. Maker only knows how long it took before Luneth finally let out an audible sound of breathing, easing herself back into her seat that she had so enthusiastically leapt from moments before to shout his name. She still wondered what she had been thinking, why she had so impulsively shouted at him, raised her voice so loudly to gather his attention almost desperately so. A simple 'wait' would've sufficed, she was sure, but…

Forcefully shrugging it off from the forefront of her mind, Luneth offered a tiny smile and gestured gingerly towards the chair nearest to her, hands disappearing beneath the table to fold neatly within her lap. There was another moment's hesitation, mental deliberation and internal war raging wildly inside of Cullen until he compelled himself to take a seat next to her. Albeit stiff and uptight, he gave her his undivided attention, and in spite of such a stance he took on, he was shockingly comfortable. But Luneth was grateful, and allowed herself to ease back into her seat herself.

"I'm…scared," she said quietly. Without a doubt, she could feel the way his gaze changed, the way his personality seemed to shift, almost into concern, something protective but dutiful. The patience he exercised when silence followed her words was magnificent, and she couldn't have been more appreciative that he likely figured how it would take her time to find the right words to explain. It wouldn't have been hard for anyone to guess that talking was never her strong suit, really, but most would've jumped to directly asking questions, practically diving down her throat to rip them out against her will.

Especially when it came to nervous, apprehensive templars dealing with mages on a regular basis. Yet Cullen sat there patiently, his eyes latched onto her without shying away for a single moment. It was a rare occurrence when Luneth witnessed this side of him, his body language laced with dutiful and loyal implications, mature and wise and intelligent looking. He never acted this way around her, and it was always from the outside that she would see this. Whenever he dealt with other templars or the Knight-Commander himself would she see this part of him…except now.

When his stare silently prompted her to continue, she cleared her throat and went on, "U-Um…earlier, when I woke up…Jowan came to check on me…t-to tell me the First Enchanter wanted to speak with me…it wasn't unusual or anything," she murmured, her tiny hands emerging from beneath the table now. A single fingertip began to trace the words on the pages of the book still sat before her, her eyes watching them like a hawk. "B-But then he…lost his temper. I-I don't quite…understand why…"

"Just randomly?" Cullen's expression had sudden grown serious, intrigued, but also a bit nervous. He hadn't really been stationed here long – just a few years or so – just newly out of his training and put in the Ferelden Tower. And Luneth could practically feel that bewildered tension rising from across the table, and her fingers stopped treading across the pages abruptly.

Luneth just gave her head a slow shake, silvery eyes settling firmly onto Cullen. A small fraction of her knew what he assumed, or at least she could guess, and it caused a deep pain to form in the center of her chest. Would it even be _possible _that Jowan was…possessed? Or worse? Tiny hand trembling, she hastily tried to stop it by crumpling her fingers into a tight fist.

While most considered this place more a prison than a home, Luneth was one of the rare few that appreciated it. She felt so welcomed, so comfortable and secure, like she truly fit in. The Chantry and the templars never bothered her much, they were just doing their job just as anyone should, and she understood that with something as potentially lethal or destructive as magic, protecting the general populace was top priority. Supervision of such a dangerous, deadly force was practically necessary. So many called her naïve and ignorant, but nothing could change her mind.

Sloth, Pride, Rage…these demons could sometimes shatter even the strongest mages' wills and turn them into abominations. Could it be that one of them had gotten a foothold in Jowan's will and was slowly injecting its corruption into his very being? Jowan…an _abomination?_

"N-No," she murmured quietly. "Jowan's…a-always been a bit depressing. B-But…wh-when he mentioned his Harrowing…"

All at once, she watched as Cullen sat up impossibly more straight, eyes widening before narrowing. "You didn't…"

Immediately, she shook her head, eyes growing wide as she leaned forward. "I-I would never! Cullen, I-I know what happens during the Harrowing i-is…kept a secret to apprentices! I-I would never…" A sigh of relief passed his lips, Luneth noting this with an overwhelming sense of reprieve of her own as she relaxed back into her seat. Invading the library was a thick silence, heavy and weighing down on the pair as they sat perfect still, motionless as they mulled over their own thoughts.

"Perhaps we should enlighten the Knight-Commander about this…" As Cullen pushed himself up out of his seat to stand, hands on the table, Luneth snapped a hand out and grabbed the wrist closest to him. Both of her hands coiled around on it, while her eyes offered a silent plea for him to sit back down, but also to not mention it to Greagoir.

"N-No! I…I wanted…t-to tell the First Enchanter first…m-maybe…"

"Luneth…I…ah…" Cullen sighed, replacing himself back down into his seat, rubbing the back of his neck softly. His silent resignation was enough for her to retract her tiny hands, fingers lacing together as they both settled back into her lap. "S-So long as you…t-tell him immediately…there could be something foul afoot, Luneth…"

"I-I know…Cullen. I know…I will…"

The pair jumped as the sound of a clearing throat filled the brief moment of quiet that followed their conversation. The templar practically leapt from his armor, bolting upright and to his feet from his chair, posture stiff and formal. His mouth fell open, prepared to scramble for some kind of excuse or statement in reply to whoever had entered and joined them in the library.

"Ah, I beg your pardon, I hope I am not interrupting…" Luneth's eyes focused in on the man that entered, and her heartbeat immediately slowed, calmed into normalcy when she realized that it was the Grey Warden from earlier, Duncan.

"A-Ah. N-No, Grey Warden, ser. You were not interrupting anything," Cullen cleared his throat, glancing at Luneth and nodding his head slightly at her. "A-Ah…have a good…evening…Luneth." Whether he was flustered or just desperate to relieve himself from the room, the elven woman wasn't entirely sure, but he was gone before she could offer any reply to him.

"Hm. Bit of a skittish lad, isn't he?" Duncan's deep voice rumbled through the library, and Luneth offered a shy smile to him at his words. "I assume that you will be retiring shortly, Miss Surana?"

"A-Ah…I-I…may soon, th-though I need to have…a word with the First Enchanter before that…"

"I see…"

Her mind was too frazzled now, too clustered with thoughts of what could possibly be wrong with Jowan. Too distracted yet again by her own thoughts, she didn't even notice Duncan moving across the floor, hands behind his back as he glanced over the spines of the various books stacked neatly across the shelves. The sound of shifting armor stopped, the silence snapping Luneth to attention as she looked around for the Grey Warden.

"It appears that this entire section has gone missing…was it always this way?"

"Wh-What? What section?" Luneth spent a fair amount of time in this library, so the news surprised her, immediately claiming all of her attention as she got to her feet and swiftly moved towards him. Movement ceasing, she halt besides Duncan, peering down at the entirely empty bookshelf, which had once housed books relating to blood magic.

"What was here before, if I may ask?" Duncan's inquisitive gaze reached Luneth, though she didn't respond, head turned forward without her gaze flinching away from the shelves.

"They…were about blood magic…"


End file.
